The Last Day
by themidnightfiles
Summary: There's a strange British man in Central Park wearing a pinstriped suit and talking about "last days." But why?


_**Edited a few things 'cause I was bored and have writer's block- 3/18/09**_

The Last Day

I remember every detail, maybe because it was so strange that it just stuck in my memory. But maybe not, because strange people and strange conversations are not unusual in New York. And I didn't know just how…special, no that's not the right word- maybe… frightening, that one would turn out to be until the next day -although that's not the right word either. I don't know…I'm just glad I do remember it so well, because if I didn't I might think that I dreamt it, or imagined it. And I've never told anyone about it before, because they would think I was insane. But it really did happen- and you know I wouldn't, _couldn't_, make up something like this. I'm sorry; I'm not really making sense to you right now, am I? I'll just start from the beginning.

One of my favorite things to do in New York is to take a walk through Central Park before work. It always leaves me ready to face a hectic New York day- maybe because it reminds me of the woods near where I grew up. I like to eat my lunch there too, and there's one bench that I frequent because of its view of the skyscrapers as well as the green of the Park. I guess it's just a nice contrast. Anyway, one morning I was walking toward work through the Park, nearing my favorite bench. There's a large hedge by this particular bench, and as I got closer I saw something blue through the branches. There had never been anything blue there before. I don't actually know if that's important to my story- it was just the first unusual thing I noticed. And then a man walked out from behind the bushes. He was tall and handsome, with brown hair sticking up on his head, and he was wearing a brown pinstriped suit. But what struck me most about this man was how _sad_ he looked. His eyes were dark and deep with unfathomable sorrow that just tore at my heart. Believe me, I couldn't have imagined that pain I saw. And it frightened me because he looked so old- not his face, just his eyes…deep and ancient and sad. You can't understand because you weren't there to see it. I stood there, frozen, waiting for him to notice me. But the strange man just looked around, unseeing, as if he was focused on something else. He sank slowly down onto my bench and put his head in his hands.

For what seemed like a long time I stood there watching him, but he didn't move. Finally, I crept past him, slowly and silently. And once I thought I was far enough away, I ran- looking back every so often, just in case. Later I told myself that I had run because I was going to be late for work, but I knew that wasn't the truth.

Trying to convince myself that I had imagined the ancient gaze of the stranger in the Park occupied my mind most of the morning. At my lunch break, I bought a deli sandwich and headed for my bench as usual. But that day, I was half afraid…and half curious. My fear of the morning mostly vanished, the stranger had captured my imagination. But there was no way he could still be there, I thought. Could he?

When my bench came into view I stopped short. He was still there! I walked closer, determined not to act like a frightened kid. I was sure that I must have imagined that impossible, ancient sadness. This time as I drew near, the man looked up at me. The sorrow still lingered in his eyes, and I felt a surge of pity. But the depths I had seen that morning were no longer visible. It wasn't that they weren't there anymore; it was as if he'd…closed them off, or something. That's really the best way I can describe it, sorry. The strange man's mouth stretched into a big friendly smile, but it almost looked hard for him. As if he was smiling because he knew he needed to, not because he really wanted to. But the smile put me at ease. "Sorry," he began, and I was surprised to find he had a British accent. "Could you tell me the date?"

I smiled back at him. "It's September 10th."

"2001?" he said.

I thought he was being annoying and correcting me for not putting the year on the end of the date, but then I wondered if maybe he'd lost his memory. "Of course," I told him. "Are you alright?"

The strange man's smile faded and he seemed to look right through me, as if seeing something completely different. Then he said something so quietly that I barely heard it, but it sounded like, "I'm always alright." He smiled at me again, but this time it was a small, sad smile. Turning his head, the strange man surveyed the whole area, from the colorful September leaves to the skyscrapers that reached up for the few clouds in the blue sky. His gaze lingered on the twin towers of the World Trade Center. "There's something heartbreakingly beautiful about last days, isn't there?" he said quietly.

"What?" I asked, confused.

Looking back at me, the stranger said, "Peace in the shadow of destruction. Like the calm before a storm." I couldn't grasp the meaning of his enigmatic words, but there was a chill to them all the same. He gestured in the direction of a crowd of laughing people farther down the path, as they turned down a separate fork and disappeared from view, in a hurry to somewhere. "People never stop to appreciate a last day, because it seems so ordinary. No one ever imagines that these are the last moments of happiness before their world descends into shock and rage and grief. Before the world as they know it changes forever…No,… people never notice the beauty of the last day because they don't know what's to come…" he trailed off into silence. And I sat down beside him on the bench, trying to think of something to say. I knew I should have been frightened because his words sounded like a threat, but they didn't come out that way. He spoke them quietly, sadly, and almost wishfully. I knew that he understood something I could not, and so I sat and listened as he spoke again. "It isn't until afterward that anyone realizes how precious that last day was…how peaceful, how beautiful. But it's gone forever- slipped through their fingers while they weren't looking." He smiled that sad, knowing smile. "But that's how time works, isn't it? You can't have any knowledge of the future to help you appreciate a day, 'cause that wouldn't be fair." He paused, and then smiled wider- still a strange mixture of happy and sad. "Except for me. Look at me. Here I am, the only person who sat and watched this day go by, who can feel how special it is. Because I know what's coming." He leaned back against the bench and put his hands behind his head. Even more quietly than before, he continued, "It's a good day for resting…for thinking…for being heartbroken, and lonely, and knowing too much……Nothing to save because it's fixed…just time and pain and peace…like always, the tahdis took me right where I needed to be." (And no, I don't know what "tahdis" means, but that's what I heard.) The strange man's eyes rested on a single white cloud high above, and for a long time he said nothing more- lost in his own thoughts.

I sat beside him and thought about everything he'd said, trying so hard to understand. But too much of it made no sense, and what I could kind of grasp was frightening. I needed an explanation. Still it took me a long time to work up the courage to break the stranger's reverie. "Excuse me," I said timidly. "What is it that's coming?"

The man sat up, and looked at me as if he'd just seen me for the first time. "Oh! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. That's my problem, I talk too much. Here I am, sitting on a bench in Central Park, September 10th, 2001, babbling away frightening and unexplainable things to a complete stranger because I'm not paying attention to anything but myself. Really, forget everything I've said. I was just sort of…venting. You should've interrupted me a long time ago." He stopped and looked at me curiously. "Thank you though…for listening. I think I needed that." Then he stood up and checked the time on a very complicated looking watch, before sticking his hands into his pockets. He looked up at the skyscrapers one more time. "Well, I'd best be off. Sorry for keeping you for so long, _and_ rudely monopolizing the conversation." I smiled at that. "Just…enjoy the rest of today. It really is beautiful." The strange man smiled at me one more time, then turned to walk away. After a few steps, he turned to face me again. Now there was no smile to distract from the haunting sadness that had remained in his eyes since the first moment I saw him. "And remember," he said. "No matter what happens, someday you'll be happy again. You just have to know that, even when you can't really believe it." This time when he turned away, he didn't turn back. He walked back in the direction he had come from that morning- behind the bushes and out of sight.

I sat quietly on my bench, staring up at the skyscrapers, my half-eaten deli sandwich still in hand. I didn't even think to follow the stranger, to see where he went, or to question him farther. I just sat there, feeling peaceful, breathing in the autumn air as if by doing so I could absorb the moments that were flowing gently by me. There was no restlessness or impatience to go somewhere or do something. I wasn't even annoyed when the quiet was interrupted for a minute by what sounded like a leaf blower that kept stalling. I was in a place of absolute contentment, appreciating the day, just like the strange man said. I committed the view from my bench to memory, so that I could never forget it.

When I finally got to my feet and looked at my cell phone for the time there were about 15 missed calls from my boss, and several voice mails- all at various stages of rage and panic. I rushed back to work, and the rest of the day passed in a blur. But that peaceful feeling stayed, like a solid foundation inside me.

It didn't shatter until the following morning, when the reporter on my office TV began to talk about a plane crashing into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. And you know the rest of the story- how the world descended into shock and rage and grief, just like the strange man said.

So, now you know why I've never told that story before. I don't understand it, and I don't think anyone else could either. And I'm not going to try to come up with an explanation for it, because every possible one is insane. It's impossible for anyone to know the future, but it happened, and I'm going to leave it at that. Because thinking anything else would be an insult to that sad stranger. And every time I walk through the Park, I hope he'll be there. I'd like to ask him for an explanation. Mostly though, I'd like to thank him, for making me notice that last day, and appreciate it. 'Cause I can still close my eyes and see the view from my bench, as it was the day before the world changed- with the Twin Towers standing tall. But the strange man is never there when I reach my bench. Still, every time I pause there, I think about him. And I wonder if he ever felt happy again. I really hope he did.

_**Did you like it? Hate it? Have a guess as to what episode I set this after? Please hit the green button below and review! Reviews make me giddy, especially those with constructive criticism. And yes, I mean giddy-- like stayed-up-all-night-watching-Doctor-Who-with-your-friends-and-can't-stop-smiling-or-talking-in-a-British-accent-giddy. **_

_**OK, maybe not **_**that**_** giddy ;)**_


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